


Six Thirty-Three Jackson

by crushondeanlikeafairy



Category: S.W.A.T. (TV 2017)
Genre: Gen, Past Child Abuse, Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 09:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14589846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushondeanlikeafairy/pseuds/crushondeanlikeafairy
Summary: The team is just having fun with an innocent game, but Street doesn't want to play.





	Six Thirty-Three Jackson

**Author's Note:**

> I know there aren't many fics for this show yet, but I've had this one bouncing around in my head all day and had to belt it out.

_Jimmy slowly went up the steps to the front porch of six thirty-three Jackson Street. He clutched his report card tightly in his hand, the first one of the sixth grade, and watched the damning paper crinkle as he squeezed. All A's, except in History. That grade was a B, and the knowledge caused a chill to run down his spine. He knew he couldn't get away with hiding it, the school required a signature from a parent. The boy grabbed the handle, freezing when he heard the sound of something crashing from inside. His father was already in a bad mood. Drinking again perhaps. The man got rough even when sober, but the alcohol always made him more likely to lash out, and much more harshly. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and went into the dark house._

* * *

"Hmm... I think my best one is probably here," Chris' voice echoed through the mess hall as she rolled up the leg of her dress blues to show a two-inch scar traversing her left calf, "I was chasing this guy through a lumber yard, and I tackled the perp. Didn't see the two-by-four laying nearby that had a huge nail sticking out. Scraped up my leg up as I went down."

Everyone erupted in laughter, herself included.

"That's got to be the lamest scar story ever, Chris," Luca chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes. She reached over the table they were all sat around and smacked him on the shoulder.

"I caught the guy at least," she returned, smiling smugly when Luca blushed, "I mean, the perp stuck out his foot and you tripped and cut your hand on the edge of a table. How is that any better?"

"Yea, well..." he thought for a minute, before giving up, "You're right. I can't fix that."

The group cracked up again. The team was alone in the mess hall, the lights dimmed, leaving only the one directly overhead on. Chris was sitting on the end with Luca in the middle beside her and Tan on the opposite end. Street was directly across from her, Deacon next to him and Hondo sitting opposite Tan. They had just returned from a mission that involved Tan getting a scratch on his left eyebrow. He had been stressing over it leaving a scar and that had led to them all discussing the wounds they'd received in the line of duty. Being the close-knit family-like team that they were, it turned competitive and now they just wanted to see who had the most interesting story.

"Wait, wait, wait," Tan interrupted, "Were we clear on the rules? Do we want badass scars or do we want lame scars? Cause all these stories so far suck ass."

"Doesn't matter. Best story wins. Whether it's funny or righteous," Luca answered after a moment of thoughtful silence. They took their team bonding seriously.

"Ok, Street. Your turn," Deac directed the group's attention toward their newest member. They had all shared but him and Deacon had actually noticed a few stories ago that their teammate was being uncharacteristically quiet. Street was fidgeting with a packet of peanuts he had pulled from the cupboard, twisting the corner back and forth until it ripped off. He didn't look up when he answered.

"Uh, I don't have one."

"What are you talking about, man? You can't seriously tell me you've never been shot? Stabbed?" Tan asked incredulously. Street just shook his head, eyes remaining fixed on his peanuts.

"What about the ones on your face?" Chris asked, leaning down to get a better look. She was sitting directly across from him, so she was afforded the best angle.

"What scars?" Hondo asked, leaning forward so he could see past Deacon, meaning he didn't miss when Jim ducked his head.

"Oh yea, the little ones up in his hairline," Luca added, "There are a few down by his right ear though."

"Dude, how did you notice that?" Tan asked, disbelief shrouding his voice. Luca shrugged.

"I lived with the dude for a while. You notice things. I don't know what her excuse is."

Chris changed the topic back to Street, "So, what's the story?"

"There isn't one," he responded quietly, standing up and moving to toss his bag of peanuts into the trash can.

"Hey, man. We're all cops here. What? Did a perp hit ya with a lamp? Nothing to be ashamed of. You heard my story, right?" Luca said, goading Street into confessing, trying to lighten his friends obviously dour mood.

"I don't want to talk about it," he responded, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and heading to the door.

"Is there no story? Or do you not want to talk about it?" Deacon called, and Street stopped in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder.

"Both," he muttered before disappearing through the door.

Deacon and Hondo exchanged confused and concerned looks before Chris broke it.

"Is he okay?"

"Probably just tired. It is late, we should all head out," Hondo said, rising and laying his palms on the table, "We all need rest."

"Okay, daaaaaaaad," Luca whined jokingly, but he stood with the others as directed.

"Hey, whoa, whoa, I ain't old enough to be your daddy. That's Deac, remember?" Hondo joked, revelling in the laughs he earned before he too headed for the door, "Good night."

Deacon followed, leaving Tan, Chris, and Luca alone in the dark room.

"We're not gonna let that go, right?" Luca asked, looking at his friends expectantly.

"Oh, definitely not," Chris said, patting them both on the shoulder. They cleaned up the trash from their snacks, shut off the single light, and headed out together. 

* * *

_"A B?!" his father shouted, standing tall and menacing over the boy. Jimmy couldn't help shaking as his father waved the report card in his face, continuing with a barrage of insults, "You worthless pig! What a waste!"_

_In the hand that wasn't holding the report card, Jimmy's father held a clear glass tumbler, one last sip of whiskey sloshing from side to side. The boy watched the liquid sway, transfixed, anything to avoid the anger in his father's eyes._

_"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly. He absently wondered where his mother was. She'd usually defend him, even at the cost of her own safety. He always felt guilty when it happened, but he also couldn't help the feeling of relief when it meant he'd escaped another beating._

* * *

 

The group met again in the war room the next morning, standing in a circle around the centre console like they usually did when debriefing. Street was the first one in, leaning against the counter with both hands. He looked tired. Chris came in, patting him on the shoulder.

"Hey, rough night?"

He looked up at her and smiled briefly.

"You could say that."

The others had joined soon after and they had gotten down to work. Jimmy didn't miss the looks his team was giving him when they thought his back was turned. They were suspicious about his behaviour last night, wanted an explanation. He was content to just leave them hanging.

"Alright, gang," Hondo said, sending the files from the tablet he held onto the screens on the console, "We got a hostage situation downtown. A couple suspects were trying to rob a bank. Someone triggered the alarm and the situation escalated. L.A.P.D. estimates about twenty hostages inside with two suspects. We do this quick, we do this quiet, we do this right. Let's gear up."

They broke ranks to get ready for the mission. Chris shot Street one last concerned look right before he disappeared from view. Luca came up and patted her on the shoulder.

"About last night, I think I got an idea."

"I'd love to hear it," she answered as they headed toward the locker room. 

* * *

 

_The report was crumpled into a ball and tossed aside. A sharp slap struck Jimmy's cheek, sending the boy sprawling to the floor, his hand shooting up to protect his face._

_"You look at me when I'm talking to you!" his father cried, voice getting impossibly louder._

_"Y-yes, sir" Jimmy sniffled, trying to keep the tears from falling._

_"And don't cry! You are not a child!"_

_The man brought his leg back, the force causing his arm to go upwards and the last bit of whiskey flew from the glass, and his foot struck Jimmy in the ribs. He cried out in pain, squeezing his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around his midsection. When his father was still for a long moment, the boy opened one eye carefully and then the other. He sat up, looking upwards at the giant looming over him. Watched him consider the now empty glass._

_"Look what you made me do," he whispered, voice dangerously low. Jimmy gulped, scrambling to his feet. He needed to make a run for it._

* * *

 

"Two more bad men in jail. Another good day at S.W.A.T.," Luca cheered as they headed back into headquarters just a few hours later., putting his arms around Tan and Street's shoulders.

"Damn right, Luca," Hondo said proudly regarding his team as he followed behind them. He saw Luca pull his arms away from his friends, slowing so that Street would pull ahead of him. He gestured to the rest of his teammates for them to stop. Once Street rounded the corner to the locker room, they all looked at him expectantly.

"Alright, so I found out what was up with Street last night," he explained when he took in their confused faces, pulling a folded paper from his pocket.

"Let's hear it," Deacon said, pointing at the form. 

* * *

 

_"That was my good whiskey. You wasted it."_

_"I-I'm sorry," the boy cried again, tears flowing down his cheeks. He started slowly backing away, hands up in defeat. One quick, wrong move could set him off. This was the calm before the storm, Jimmy had enough experience to know._

_"Enough with your WORTHLESS apologies," his father roared. The quiet spell broke, the storm was let loose. He brought his arm up, flung it forward, hurling the tumbler toward his son. Jimmy tried to bring his hands up in defence, to protect his face. But he wasn't quick enough and the glass struck, shattering on his right temple. He had at least turned his head enough to avoid being struck in the eye. But it was a small victory. He shouted in pain, dropping to his knees. Blood made its way into his right eye and all he could see was red. He felt like his face was on fire, little slices of glass embedded in his skin. His ears were ringing. In the background, he swore he heard a door slamming._

_"Oh my god! Jimmy!"_

_That was his mother's voice. Opening his left eye, the only one he couldn't currently see out of, he saw her running toward him. His father had gone, presumably to get more whiskey. She knelt beside him, cradling him in her arms, trying to get a look at the damage._

_"Mom?" he struggled to get the word out, his voice cracking from the pain._

_"I'm right here, Jimmy. You're gonna be okay," she hushed, her soft voice soothing him, "Everything is going to be okay."_

_Everything after that was just a blur._

* * *

 

Street was shuffling through his locker, organizing his stuff when the others came through the door.

"What took you guys so long?" he asked, glancing briefly over his shoulder at them, but not turning entirely.

"Was it your father?" Hondo replied with a question rather than answering. But, then Street supposed that that probably was an answer in and of itself.

"What?"

"You know what," Deacon said calmly, hustling the group inside so he could shut the door.

"What makes you guys say that?"

Luca held up a piece of paper, folding from being kept in his pocket, crumpled from being passed back and forth between hands, "I pulled your medical records. You were in the hospital due to several lacerations on your scalp and contusions on your ribcage. This happened when you were eleven. We put two and two together."

Street forced out a laugh, shutting the door to his locker, "Wow. You guys are very nosy, aren't you?"

"It's our job," Chris answered, smiling sadly.

"No, it's not," he replied, deadpan. This wasn't a joke to him.

"What happened?" Hondo asked, stepping to the front of the group, resting a hand on Street's shoulder, "You can tell us."

Street sighed, stepping away from Hondo's grip, "You guys really aren't gonna let this go."

It wasn't a question. They all knew it, yet they shook their heads in response anyway. Jim took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"I came home with a B on my report card. Wasn't good enough. The old man threw his glass at me. Anything else?" he tossed his hands up, like no big deal. They were all taken aback by how nonchalantly Street delivered the news, despite how he had been hiding this revelation not hours ago. Now that they had their answer, they weren't quite sure what to do with it.

"I think you win for most badass story," Luca said after what felt like a lifetime of silence. He couldn't stand awkward silences.

"How so?" Jim answered, sceptical, "I was a coward."

"No, you were a kid. But you're a brave man today, because of it. And I agree with Luca," Chris said, "That wins you most badass story."

Everyone nodded in their agreement. Street couldn't help but smile. The bad memories were still swirling in his mind, they'd never really go away. But his friends accepted him. Accepted the memories as part of him. And maybe that helped, just a little bit. Street flashed them the biggest grin he could muster, holding his hands up expectantly as he backed up a few steps.

"Ok," he said, going along with the game, "What do I win? Is it a good prize? Cause I really want pizza."

"We're really going to regret this, aren't we?" Luca asked, grimacing.

"You know it," Jimmy laughed, "Now come one, I know the best place to get a good pie."

They all looked to Hondo to see if he agreed. When he nodded his affirmation, they all followed Street out the door eagerly. They couldn't say no to pizza, after all.


End file.
